Authors: Olive Ann Burns
"Will, I'm a-go'n git marrit."
The sky wobbled. "Get married?"
"I didn't want you to hear it from nobody else. I'm a-go'n marry Hosie."
Oh, good gosh a'mighty!
"We couldn't even think on it fore yore granddeddy give him thet job. Hosie's got a chance in life now, Will. We'll always feel beholden to Mr. Blakeslee. He shore is a fine man. I better go now, but I ain't never go'n forgit you and please don't forgit me, Will. Thet's why I give you the buckeye. Look at it ever now and agin and remember—"
She kissed me quick, on the cheek. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Next thing I knew, she had disappeared.
As if a chance in life wasn't enough, the next day Grandpa let Hosie off work early to go over to Jefferson for the license, and even lent him his mule for the trip. Also raised his wages fifty cents a week.
It like to killed me.
I felt by myself in a way I never had in my life. Miss Love just had eyes for Grandpa, and Grandpa was taken up with her, and now Lightfoot was about to marry Hosie Roach.
Maybe something would stop it. Maybe something would happen to Hosie. Maybe—
School was out for the summer on Friday that week, and they got married on Sunday, at the little Baptist church in Mill Town. "We jest went up after preachin'," Hosie told Grandpa, "and got the knot tied."
The one that something happened to was Grandpa.
G
RANDPA
worked late the following Friday night. Hosie Roach worked late, too, naturally, but went home to Lightfoot about nine o'clock, a good hour before Grandpa locked up to go home to Miss Love.
Just as he turned the door key, a man stuck a Harrington and Richardson revolver to the back of his head, and a rough voice said, "Unlock thet door, Mr. Blakeslee. Hit ain't quite time to close up yet."
There were two of them, one big and burly, the other a younger fellow with a slight build. Despite they had dirty white handkerchiefs over their faces, Grandpa recognized them right off as the strangers who'd come in the store that morning claiming to be cotton buyers.
They made him unlock the cash register, despite he said it was empty, and it
was
empty. Then they sat him down in a straight chair by the potbellied stove, out of sight from the street, and tied him to the chair with a length of medium rope cut from the store's big coil. All that time, Grandpa kept saying how pore he was. "I ain't got no more cash money'n a one-horse farmer," he insisted. "The store don't bring in enough these days for nobody to bother stealin' it."
"Tell thet to somebody ain't got no sense," said the big burly one. "A man ain't pore thet owns two artermobiles and a store and a ho-tel." He nodded towards Miss Love's fine-cuisine sign in the window. "Luther, tie thet last knot tighter. Now, sir, whar's yore safe?"
"They ain't a dime in thet safe," roared Grandpa, struggling against the rope. He was really mad.
As the burly one slapped him across the face, Luther spied the safe. "Now call out the combination," ordered the big fellow. "And if I was you, sir, I wouldn't give no wrong numbers."
"Have it yore way, but it's a waste a-time," Grandpa insisted. "I used to keep cash money in there. But not since I read bout somebody breakin' in a store in Atlanta and cartin' off the safe to blow up later. I don't—"
"Say the combination for Luther here," the big fellow ordered again. "Say it slow. He ain't too bright."
So Grandpa said the numbers. But Luther being a little bit drunk and his hands shaking like the palsy from nervousness, he couldn't work it. They decided to untie Grandpa and make him do it.
Just like he said, the safe was empty—except for his will and a letter and some stock certificates, land deeds, and other legal papers. The robbers were mad, boy howdy! "Now, sir! You tell us where thet money is or git ready to die, one!" the big fellow yelled, waving his revolver in Grandpa's face.
"I shore didn't waste no time mindin' them boogers," Grandpa said the next morning when he was telling us all about the robbery. "Gosh a'mighty, I couldn't hardly wait to upturn my dang nail keg!"
He was lying on his left side in Granny's big bed. Miss Love sat in the rocking chair, facing him. The rest of us stood behind her — I and Mama and Papa, Aunt Loma, Mary Toy, and Aunt Carrie, who had come over offering to help.
"Well, sir, I dumped the nail keg and—ow!" Grandpa, trying to turn onto his back, quickly eased back to his left side, which was where the broke ribs were. Doc had bound his chest tight with strips of old sheets to keep the broke ribs from moving every time he breathed. "Hit don't hurt so bad as long as I stay like this," he said, his face twisted with pain. "Ain't I a pretty sight, Will Tweedy?" He tried to grin.
I could hardly bear to look at him. Besides a big ugly knot on his forehead, he had two black eyes, his nose was swelled up huge—broke for the fourth time in his life—and Doc had bandaged a bad gash above his left eye. Besides all that, his right knee was bad twisted, and he was sore and bruised all over.
My daddy got him back to talking about the highwaymen. "Did they get all the money, sir?"
"I reckon, Hoyt. Like I say, I dumped the keg, nails and all, and besides the day's earnin's, out fell all them silver dollars and gold pieces I had in there. Must a-been a hundred and fifty dollars' worth, and them coins rollin' ever whichaway!" Grandpa spread his right arm wide to indicate the whole store, but I noticed he was mindful of his broke ribs. "Gosh a'mighty, they was greedy! Went down on hands and knees and crawled around jest a-grab-bin'! They'd been drinkin', you know, and they warn't any too bright, and was new at the game, too, I reckon, cause they plumb forgot I wasn't still tied up. All I had to do was watch my chance and whack each one acrost the back of the neck with the side of my hand—
thonk, thonk.
By time they come to, I was a-settin' on the counter with their dang Harrington and Richardson pointed right at'm."
Grandpa usually kept his own revolver under the counter, a Smith and Wesson, but had taken it home for cleaning.
First he made his prisoners take off their handkerchief masks. "Why, I thought y'all was men!" he exclaimed, making like he was surprised. "But dang if you ain't monkeys!" Grandpa was having the time of his life. He said, "Well, jest in case y'all got in mind to start some monkey bizness, I'll do a little target practice. See thet there cardboard advertise-ment?" He nodded toward a cutout of a pretty lady holding a box of Pearline Washing Compound. It hung by a string from the ceiling just above where the robbers were sitting on the floor but, being dazed and dum-founded, they looked all around and didn't see what he was talking about.
"Hit's a-hangin' right over y'all's heads," jeered Grandpa. The men looked up just as he shot the string half in two, dropping the cardboard lady to the floor at their feet. "Now then, I reckon y'all go'n be-have whilst I ring up Pearl Potter, our po-lice. Thet's
Mister
Pearl Potter, for yore information."
But with just the one hand, Grandpa would have had to lay down the revolver to talk on the phone. Not being that big of a fool, he told Luther to do the calling. "Say to Mr. Pearl, 'Me and my buddy been tryin' to rob Blakeslee's store, so come git us and put us in the calaboose!' Make haste, now, Luther. I got to git on home. Gosh a'mighty, I bet Mr. Pearl ain't never got a call like this'n before," he said, laughing.
Luther stood up real slow, eyeing the telephone.
"You ain't never seen a telephone?" Grandpa was trying to goad him. "All you do, you turn thet crank, then you pick up thet dohickey and put it up to yore ear and wait till Central answers. What you talk th'ew is thet thang stickin' out of the box. Tell her Rucker Blakeslee is a-holdin' you and yore partner and you want to speak to Mr. Pearl Potter."
The robber was naturally mad as heck, being made fun of like that, but he did like he was told to—then just stood there and stood there.
"Why ain't you talkin'?" asked Grandpa.
"Cause she don't answer," said Luther.
"Dang!" said Grandpa, "Miss Lucille must a-gone to the bathroom. Crank it agin, sonny boy."
All of a sudden he noticed that the other fellow, the burly one, had stood up and moved a step forward. "You want a bullet th'ew that mole on yore chin, buster?" he yelled, waving the revolver. "Move one more step and I'll put it there. Or maybe you rather watch me shoot another string half in two."
He saw the men exchange quick glances when he said that, but as he himself admitted later, he was havin' sech a good time he never thought nothin' of it.
Instead of stepping back, the big hunky fellow sneered and said, "Thet with the string was jest a lucky shot. You cain't do it agin."
"Less'n yore revolver don't aim true, I can do it any number a-times." Still sitting on the counter, not taking his eyes off the big fellow, Grandpa said, "Keep on crankin' thet phone, Luther."
"A gun cain't shoot no better than the feller aimin' it," said the big hunky one, and eased forward a little.
Grandpa saw that. "Go to dancin', buster!" he yelled, firing off a bullet that grazed the toe of the man's boot. Even before he pulled the trigger again and got a click instead of a bang, young Luther had dropped the receiver, leaving it dangling by the cord. Crouching low, like a bobcat ready to spring, he grabbed Grandpa's right knee, turned quick, and jerked him off the counter just as his partner raised a chair high and crashed it over Grandpa's head.
W
E ALL WONDERED
if the robbers meant to kill Grandpa. "He shore looked dead when I come in the store," said Mr. Pearl. "Out cold and bleedin' like a hog."
Dr. Slaughter said it was just a good thing Miss Lucille got back to her switchboard in time to plug into the fight, and then had the good sense to ring up him and Mr. Pearl.
If Miss Love had had a telephone, she would of been called next instead of us. As it was, she'd just started wondering why Grandpa hadn't come on home when she heard Mr. Birdsong's old horse-drawn hearse rattle into her drive—the one he took Uncle Camp to the morgue in but called an ambulance if the person wasn't dead yet. Miss Love didn't have any way to know for sure which it was when Doc climbed out and said he'd brought Rucker home.
Papa and I got there in the Cadillac a minute or two later. I won't ever forget the look on Miss Love's face as she watched us bring Grandpa in on the stretcher. You'd think he'd been under a rock all his life, he was so pale. The knot on his forehead was big as a double-yolk egg. The gash over his left eye was still bleeding, and his face was a twist of pain. But as we carried him towards the bedroom—Miss Love holding a lamp high to light our way down the hall—Grandpa looked up at her with a weak grin and said, "Don't worry, hear. I'll be up in the mornin' fore the water boils. I got outsmarted, is all."
Then he coughed, and yelped with pain from the broke ribs.
Before I got inside his house good on Saturday night after it happened on Friday night, Grandpa called from the sickroom, "Thet you, Will Tweedy? Anythang new happen down at the store? They ketch them robbers? Come in here, son!"
His room smelled of turpentine, which Doc had prescribed as a liniment for the pulled ligament. Grandpa was sitting on the side of the bed in his nightshirt, holding a pack of steaming hot towels to his knee. By then he was tired of hurting and madder'n heck at the robbers. "If'n I ever meet up with them two agin," he yelled, shaking his fist, "I'll kill'm!"
"Better wait till you feel better, Grandpa," I said, joking.
That just made him madder. But he had to get aholt of himself, because the ranting and raving made his ribs hurt. Groaning, he eased back down on the bed, turning onto his left side. "Hit ain't so bad ... long as I lay still and breathe shaller."
"Dr. Slaughter says you must breathe deep," Miss Love reminded him, coming in with a supper tray.
"Gosh a'mighty, woman, I'd like to see him breathe deep in my condition! All this wouldn't a-happened, Will Tweedy, if'n I'd jest knowed what them dang robbers knowed—thet warn't but two bullets in their dang revolver."
Miss Love set the tray on a towel on the bed so Grandpa could eat laying on his side. "You couldn't have known about the bullets," she said, patting his shoulder.
"Don't pat me when I'm mad, woman! I would a-knowed bout them bullets if I'd a-looked." He groaned, reaching down to rub his knee. "And I would a-looked," he added, "if'n I hadn't a-been talkin' so big and showin' off."
"Dear, try to stay calm. Dr. Slaughter said—"
"Let Doc stay calm. I'm mad and hurtin' and I need to git on to the store." Grandpa took a bite of cornbread and kept right on fussing. "Ifn they'd a-fought fair, with fists, I could a-licked them boogers! Either one or both of'm!"
He wasn't just mad. He was embarrassed. What hurt most—worse than the broke ribs, broke nose, banged head, and twisted knee all put together—was his pride. The only fight he'd ever lost before was the War Between the States.
Miss Love bent over him and touched his cheek. "You're alive," she whispered. "That's all I care about."
"Well, it ain't all I care about. Doggit—no, damnit, by gosh—I never thought to git done in by a dang settin' chair. If I'd a-seen it comin', I could a-ducked." He groaned.
My mother was coming down the hall as I left Grandpa's room to hurry back to the Saturday night customers at the store. "I thought maybe I could hep some way," she told Miss Love. "Maybe wash your supper dishes. And I'll take the soiled sheets home for Queenie to wash and iron." Almost timidly, she peered in at Grandpa lying in the bed. "Pa?" she said sweetly. "Would you like me to come sit with you a few minutes?"
He was still mad at the robbers. "I reckon, Mary Willis," he grumped, "if'n you'll set over in the corner and not say nothin' and not cry. I cain't stand it when you mother-hen me."
I just knew she'd burst into tears. Instead, she snapped back at him like she'd been taking lessons from Aunt Loma. "Just cause you didn't get your way with the robbers is no reason to talk to me like that, Pa. And I don't have to stay and listen to it." She turned to stalk out.